


Lessons In Silence

by FangQueen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Canon Divergent, Cruciatus Curse, Draco is 16, Gen, Gore, Legilimency, Mental Health Issues, Occlumency, Torture, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-13 19:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10520733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangQueen/pseuds/FangQueen
Summary: When he’d entered the ballroom, he could hardly walk through the door, the air was so thick with wards and silencing charms. That should’ve been the first clue. The room was dark, save for the handful of candles floating in a circle above the center. Their orange glow shimmered off of skin still sallow from prolonged imprisonment as his Aunt smiled in greeting and gestured to the single chair set in front of her.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LRThunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LRThunder/gifts).



> Written for the 2017 Horror Fest at [HP Dark Arts](http://hp-darkarts.livejournal.com/), based on the following prompt:
> 
>  **Prompt:** If pain is the lesson, then she's the teacher.  
>  **Suggested Character(s)/Pairings:** Bellatrix  
>  **Any optional extras:** Go wild with this one. Can take place anytime (pre-books, during the second war, etc.)  
>  **Submitted by:** lrthunder
> 
> I’ve always thought about this, about how it’s been said that Bellatrix trained Draco in Occlumency, and that that’s why he’s so amazing at it--and I’ve also always wondered what those training sessions might’ve been like, for him to get so good. And then, of course, my mind took it to a very dark place indeed, haha. I’d been wanting to write about it for awhile now, but just hadn’t gotten the inspiration yet. lrthunder: thank you so much for providing me that much needed inspiration with this prompt! I hope you enjoy it.

_“Come see me tonight, after dinner. We’ll discuss the task Our Lord has provided you. Now now, I know you’re nervous. This is your first big responsibility! I understand. I want to help you.”_

When he’d entered the ballroom, he could hardly walk through the door, the air was so thick with wards and silencing charms. That should’ve been the first clue. The room was dark, save for the handful of candles floating in a circle above the center. Their orange glow shimmered off of skin still sallow from prolonged imprisonment as his Aunt smiled in greeting and gestured to the single chair set in front of her.

He should’ve just turned around. Had he done so, had he simply tried to avoid her for the remainder of his summer holiday, then perhaps things would’ve ended up differently. He should’ve _known better_ ; he’d heard the stories. This room was tucked away in a now unused wing of the Manor, and was clearly being heavily guarded against anyone eavesdropping or walking in on them. However, he’d also heard his mother speak highly of her eldest sister, of the strong woman who had stood up for their beliefs and had been wrongly punished for doing so. Sure, she was a tad...off. But she’d been nothing but kind to him upon her return to their lives. She treated him like he was _someone_ \--an adult. Offered him brandy when his parents had only ever allowed butterbeer or maybe a glass of elf-made wine. Talked him down from that last bout of cold feet before his initiation…

_“Have you heard of Legilimency and Occlumency?”_

The still-fresh tattoo smoldered like a rug burn under his sleeve. It constantly itched in a way he could never quite satisfy. A reminder of what he’d agreed to, of the binding contract he was now burdened with. The task he’d been given shortly after that evening was forever lingering at the back of his mind. He’d felt as if he was drowning ever since hearing the words, and he’d been more than grateful when his Aunt had stopped him in the hall earlier and asked how he was doing. He’d told her the truth: that he was terrified. That he was sure he wouldn’t be able to accomplish it, and that he feared that failure with everything in him. She had appeared warm and open to hearing his anxieties, and had assured him they would figure something out, that none of them would let him fail.

_“Good, good! I think the latter, especially, would help you a great deal in completing your task--don’t you agree? We wouldn’t want anyone being able to find out about your plans, now would we?”_

He’d trusted her. He knew he shouldn’t have; he was old enough now to know that the rumors weren’t just that, and that his mother’s opinion on it all had never been anything but familial bias. But he did. Merlin help him, he did…

Draco struggled against the ropes securing his wrists to the arms of the chair. Another pair pressed his ankles taut to the front legs, his thighs spread. His Aunt Bellatrix stood before him, a large butcher’s knife in her hand. She was speaking, but he was having trouble deciphering it all, distracted as he was by the glint of the sharpened edge of the weapon she held so casually, as if this was something they did all the time.

“The Dark Lord has entrusted you with a very important mission. It is _imperative_ that your plans for it not fall into the wrong hands. Or minds, perhaps we should say. And I’m going to teach you how to close off _yours_ so that no one, not even our enemies, would be able to read it.”

A flick of her wand sent the buttons on his dress shirt flying every which way, clanking off the floor and the walls as they hit. He shivered as the sudden whoosh of air hit his now bare chest. She knelt before him, then, the blade aimed at the revealed skin. In a moment of blind panic, he tried to shuffle away, only to scrape his wrists against their bindings.

“H-how are you going to do that?” he stammered, to keep her talking, to try and prevent whatever she was planning to do with that knife from happening.

“By teaching you how to close yourself off, even under the worst of circumstances.”

Those words made every nerve in his body squirm and his hairs stand on end. Now he was beginning to get an idea what the knife was for. But that didn’t make any sense! He didn’t know the first thing about closing his mind, and now she was already jumping to the extreme! “I-I don’t know how to do that, Aunt Bella!” he swore emphatically. “Maybe we can start small? W-work up to this?”

“These are trying times, Draco. We don’t have the luxury to start small. You have to remain calm, turn your conscious into a blank slate. Occlumens are those who can steel their minds from invasion completely. They can choose to feel nothing, so that they are impervious to the influence of others. If our enemy were to catch you, they would most assuredly attempt to torture the information out of you. I want to be sure that you can withstand anything they throw at you.”

“B-but how would I...I don’t understand--”

“Take a breath. Calm down. Think of nothing. Keep your mind silent.”

“ _I don’t know how to do that_ \--”

“You must! If you’re going to complete your task, then you _have_ to learn! You don’t want them to find out what you’re planning, do you?”

“No! No, I promise, I wouldn’t let that happen!”

“Oh, dear,” she cooed softly, cradling one side of his face in her free hand and caressing his cheek with her thumb, “I know you wouldn’t mean to. But in times like these, unfortunately...we can’t trust promises.”

The point of the knife finally slipped beneath his skin, and he watched, his mouth hanging open in muted horror, as the flesh zippered open and the first rush of scarlet burst forth. Several seconds passed before pain permeated shock, and by then she was already making another, deeper cut right next to it. All he could do was half choke on a garbled noise that rose in his throat, cut off as her hand--surprisingly strong--clamped down on his jaw and forced his head up.

The last thing he saw in that room was the piercing gaze of her dark, mad eyes. Then he was falling, the bottom dropping out of his stomach, leaping off the edge of reality headfirst into a sea of memories. Some he knew like the back of his hand, some he didn’t even remember having till now, as they flew by, coalesced, pulsed and swirled together like a kaleidoscope. He tried to reach out and grab onto one, to anchor himself, to stop this sinking feeling that was overwhelming him, robbing him of breath and sight and sense.

Then he could see it, clear as the night it had happened. He was in the woods somewhere--no one had told him the location, and he’d never asked. Even now, he could smell the scent of pine, dew, and mud in the air, feel the wind whip through his robes, chill despite the summer heat earlier in the day. The Dark Lord was holding Draco’s arm, sleeve rolled up to bare his pale skin to the light of the full moon, wand poised in his opposite hand to perform the spell that would forever bind him to his cause. Before he could, however, Draco started, tried to pull away. He could still feel those bony fingers digging into his wrist as he was yanked back. A derisive snort from his slitted nostrils, and then he was leaning in, asking in a teasing whisper if the boy was going to take what he’d consented to...or if he was going to force him to teach him what happened to blood traitors in front of all of these “fine ladies and gentlemen.” With several of his loyal followers currently behind bars, the circle around them was small. But the threat was still enough to make Draco shake his head and finally comply…

He returned to the room, sucking on oxygen and shaking like an addict. There were a few more cuts accompanying the first two now; he could feel the stinging burn of them across his chest. She was still studying his face, but even though her look was thoughtful, there was a hardness underneath that told him all he needed to know: she’d seen it, too. She’d seen it. She’d seen him hesitate, and he couldn’t _breathe_ , because now she knew. She knew he regretted it, that he’d never wanted it in the first place. What was she going to do with him now? Turn him in to the others? Make an example of him, as their leader himself had threatened that night? And afterwards, what would happen to his parents…?

But she didn’t appear to be inclined to do anything of the sort. Instead, she hummed a little to herself, stroking his cheek once more as she mused aloud:

“I see we have a lot of work to do.”

***

“I’m sorry?”

Draco looked up from his barely eaten breakfast to see his mother’s smiling face from across the dining table. She was eying his relatively untouched plate with concern as she dabbed at a corner of her mouth with a napkin.

“I said it’s nice having your Aunt around again, isn’t it? She tells me you two have been having great talks, about,” he watched her expression falter, “your duties, and she thinks you’re coming along very well.”

He twirled his fork nervously, but didn’t show any signs of actually using it. He suddenly felt sick--sicker than he already had. The smile on her lips told him she had no clue. More than anything, he wanted to tell her, hoped that doing so would make it all stop...But he couldn’t do that. Not to her. Not now, when there was so little joy left for her to hold onto. She was trying so hard, really, to keep it all together. Her presence was like the sun penetrating the otherwise dreariness currently blanketing his childhood home. And he couldn’t have felt any more distanced from that light than he did now.

“Oh. Yeah, she’s been...very helpful.”

The door at the end of the dining hall opened, and in bustled the lady herself, all twitters and smiles as she greeted her favorite sister with a kiss on the cheek on the way to her seat. Her hand was like a lead weight on his shoulder as she tucked in beside him, and her touch, even through his clothing, made his skin crawl. It trailed down to rub his back. However brief, the contact was enough to ignite a dull throb in the welts there: a reminder of what happened when he tried to avoid their…“talks.” Or fight back...Swallowing against the twisting sensation in his stomach, he suddenly shot to his feet, startling both the women at the table with him and the house elf that had been busy pouring his Aunt a cup of tea and asking after how she’d like her eggs this morning.

“M-may I be excused?”

“Of course, dear, but you haven’t even touched--”

“I’m not feeling well.”

“Oh, well, go and have a lie down, I’ll come check on you--”

“No! No, thank you, I’ll be fine.”

In his quarters, he nearly ripped his shirt over his head, tossed it aside, and marched into the private bathroom, where he snatched a bottle of dittany from the medicine cabinet with trembling hands. A little splash on a washcloth, and he was wincing as he pressed it to the fresh wounds across his abdomen. Green smoke billowed around him as they slowly, but surely, scarred over. Yet, when he glanced at his worn and ghostly countenance in the mirror, they still looked pink and fresh next to the faded lines around them. And when he moved, he could still feel the tug and sting of the abused skin underneath.

***

“How about we try something a little different tonight, hmm?”

Draco fidgeted in his chair, but said nothing. The knife had been set aside on the ground, his blood shining garishly along the blade, and he’d thought they were done for the evening. She’d stripped him this time, left cuts littering his thighs, in addition to his arms and torso. He longed for something to cover up with--could no longer stand the vulnerability in being spread open as he was, manhood bared to the scrutiny of his Aunt’s gaze and the chill of this abandoned room.

“You’ve been doing quite well with this portion of our training! You almost blocked me out that last time, I could feel it. But it’s occurred to me recently: our enemies might not be as lenient as I’ve been thus far. I know I wasn’t whenever I was tasked with interrogating one of their own. And knowing them, they’d probably torture you in several unspeakable ways, but you _must_ remain resolute, no matter their form of attack. Calm, blank, and silent. That’s what we’re looking to achieve. When someone tries to peer into your mind, no matter what’s going around you, you must not allow them to see anything. _No matter what’s going on around you_ , do you understand?”

It was getting difficult to stay alert, with the thick, sticky redness pouring down his chest, his biceps, over his knees and between his legs. The sharp scent had invaded his nostrils, the constant pain of exposed flesh and reopened wounds scrambling his senses. His Aunt was withdrawing her wand now from a pocket in her robes, and he tried to think of what she could mean by “try something different”...

“I’m going to need you to breathe through this one, all right, dear? Brace yourself.”

His eyes widened, suddenly very much awake, and stared unblinkingly at the slender, carved bit of wood in her hand as if he’d never seen such a thing in his life. Somehow he knew. He didn’t know from where, but he knew by the way she was looking at him. Her smile was different now; manic, less the comforting relative and more the deranged Azkaban escapee that he knew her to be. That sneer was the last thing he saw, before she uttered the forbidden incantation, and his vision went black.

***

Flying was a long-used stress reliever for Draco. The house was stifling. His mother was having one of her bad days, shrieking and crying over his father’s absence in his study. Aunt Bella was an ever-present shadow, observing his every move. He had to get outside, get some air, so he could think clearly again.

There was nothing else quite like this. Afternoon sun beating down on his back, cool breeze soothing the burn. The whoop of joy in his belly as he soared higher and higher, and the resulting adrenaline rush through his veins. He cut across the yard and over the hedge to circle amongst the line of trees on the other side. Their leaves tickled his cheeks and sides as he dodged them, creating a sort of training course around their trunks. Like he had as a child, bobbing and weaving, feeling yet another rush after rush every time he managed a near miss. Then up he went again, till the tips of the highest branches were nothing but specks. He could see the lake in the distance, it’s glassy surface reflecting the clear sky and rippling with the waves of summer heat rolling across it. For a moment, he wondered how far he could get before someone would come looking for him. Since his indoctrination, he hadn’t been permitted to wander. But oh, how nice it would feel, to sit at its shore, stretch out on the bank and relax, with his feet cooling in its waters...

He flinched, shivering, and his ride shook between his legs. The sun had warmed his clothes enough to have reached the wounds on his biceps; he could feel them sizzling under his sleeves. Not unlike the tingling of the Curse through his nerves…He didn’t want to think about that. He’d come out here, with the intention of flying till he exhausted himself, specifically because he _didn’t want to think about that_. So he turned towards the lake once more, his Aunt be damned. She’d already claimed his nights; he wasn’t going to let her take his days as well.

But the shaking was getting more persistent. Like the chair rattling beneath him...He tried to ignore it. He tried to think of more pleasant things and just focus on the water calling to him on the horizon. He tried not to see her eyes boring into his soul, to hear his own screams reverberating around him. Even outside and as far up in the air as he was, it was still like he could _feel_ her: her hand holding his head up, and her magic crackling over him. A glance up forced his eyes into the harsh light of the sun, and it was so like that first flash behind his lids when the Curse would hit that he gasped, and the broom jerked to the side.

Okay, this clearly wasn’t going to work. He figured it would probably be best to lower his altitude and head back now. But he felt a sharp tug at one of the cuts around his waist as he twisted, and the broom suddenly dipped down a couple feet more than he’d asked it to. He pulled up, then kept it still, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath against the heavy thud of his heart. Only when he was sure he was back in control did he urge it forward again.

Apparently, he’d been wrong to assume, as it, instead, surged another yard downwards. A startled yelp burst from his throat, and he gripped the handle hard and pulled up and as much away from the ground below as he could. But it was no use; he was scrambling, diving, falling, and a few good, insistent yanks at the broom were the only things that saved him from an even harder landing. His right shoulder hit first, then he was skidding across the grass, wincing at the solid dirt beneath scraping at his already raw skin through his shirt.

He lay there for a moment, to catch his breath and blink back the pained tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d lost control of his broom, just...the first time since he was very young...When he finally flipped over and pushed himself up, it was on wobbly legs. From his crouched position, he stared at the broom--having rolled a little ways off, but thankfully still intact--and willed away the uneasy feeling in his gut.

Determined, he rose and stumbled over to it, then held his open palm out above it and waited for it to jump into his hand.

It didn’t.

Gritting his teeth, he tried again, this time commanding in a firm tone: “Up.”

Nothing.

He tried _again_ , his voice deeper, more authoritative.

Still nothing. The broom simply lay there. But for the shiny brand name etched into the top of the handle, he wouldn’t have known it from just another stick on the ground. No matter how many times he urged it, his voice growing more and more feeble every second, cracking with emotion, nothing! The bond he typically felt in his hand whenever he called his broom was mostly gone, leaving behind a faint flicker that merely tickled his fingertips. It was like he could feel his magic short-circuiting.

No. No, he wasn’t going to let her have this, not this too. Bitch didn’t deserve it. She hadn’t earned taking away the one thing that had ever given him purpose.

The world spun when he suddenly bent over and snatched it up. He thrust it between his legs and kicked off, heading for the treetops once more. It carried him that far, but was trembling violently now. The thoughts had already entered his brain, and no matter what he did to try and redirect it, he could still feel them buzzing. She’d gotten him, and she was going to take everything that made him happy, till there was nothing left but a calm, blank, silent shell.

The broom dove for the ground. Sheer physical strength was only thing that helped him brace for the inevitable crash; he jerked the handle, trying to force it up and back and around the trees, till he collided with the earth once more. He could already feel a bruise forming on his shoulder from the impact, and one of the cuts on his thigh had been reopened and was dripping blood onto his trouser leg. With a defeated shriek of rage, he lashed out, chucking the offending object at a nearby tree, where it hit with a sharp “thwack” and promptly tumbled to the grass at the base. His hands then flew to cover his face, where he felt the tears flowing before he even knew they’d come.

***

“ _Crucio_!”

“Haaa!”

“ _Crucio_!”

“Ahhhhaa!”

“ _CRUCIO_!”

His scream bounced off the marble walls, pitch intensified, distorted, and echoing over and over in his head. Every single nerve in his body was on fire, tingling and twisting as if he’d been struck by lightning, and his body convulsed with each white-hot shock. The restraints were the only things keeping him in his chair, but he was thrashing so hard it was a wonder how it hadn’t broken out from under him.

His Aunt’s hand shot out to take hold of his face, and he couldn’t do anything other than whimper--a pitiful sound that made shame churn in his gut. Her thumb smeared in some of the sick still left on his chin, from when the pain had become too much. She’d done a shoddy job of spelling the mess off his lap as well--probably on purpose--and the lingering stench of it made him want to retch again, but her iron grip kept his mouth sealed firmly shut. He would’ve bitten her had he had strength left to fight it.

He could feel her probing his mind, but he could no longer see any of it. Although, after all their sessions, there was nothing new she could’ve found. She’d seen everything from his last Quidditch game to his first kiss to that time his father had spanked him after he’d thrown a tantrum at the toy store. Each time she entered, his soul was laid bare, his every thought and feeling just there for the taking. And did she take. She took all he could give, and still kept asking for more.

Scoffing, she suddenly tossed his head aside, quick enough that her palm slapped against his cheek. He didn’t even feel it over the magic still stabbing into every inch of muscle. “You must try harder to resist! Calm. Blank. _Silent_! I’ve told you this before, have you not been listening?!”

Of course he’d been listening! He’d heard everything she’d ever said to him during these sessions, had catalogued and tried to make sense of it all. Her voice haunted him day and night, always insisting on _more_ , _harder_ , he must _try harder_ , because their enemies wouldn’t go as easy on him as she was! And he _did_ try, he really did, but he didn’t know what she was asking for. No human alive could blank their mind like she wanted him to under these circumstances. And somehow he didn’t think that the Order would do this, even if they knew what he was now, even if they knew what he’d been asked to do. But she was unwavering, and he knew if he didn’t comply and eventually give her what she wanted, he was going to die here...

She waited for an answer he couldn’t give. The Curse cut the air once more, and he screamed.

***

Draco stared at the glass littering the tiled floor for a good long while before realizing it was _he_ who’d dropped it. He didn’t even remember pouring the water it had contained. The hand that had been holding it was shaking so hard he had to squeeze it in the other to get it to stop. His heart was racing from what, he didn’t know, and his head felt light, dizzy. He looked up to see that he was in their kitchen, but didn’t remember how he’d gotten there. It was like he’d been sleep walking. It would’ve been the most sleep he’d gotten in weeks.

“Draco? Sweetheart, are you alright?”

His mother was suddenly at his side, having entered from the drawing room across the hall. A house elf she’d summoned was tidying the mess at his feet. Her hands massaged his shoulders, her eyes searching his for a sign of what was wrong. Her touch was the most comforting thing he’d felt in a very long time...and something inside him snapped.

“Mum, I don’t...I don’t want Aunt Bella here anymore.”

The look of bewilderment she gave him confirmed just how very out of the blue his statement was. But he didn’t take it back, didn’t try to brush it aside. He was still trembling from head to toe, and only her strong hold on him kept him upright.

“ _Please_.” His voice cracked on the plea, which seemed to spur Narcissa into further action.

“Whatever do you mean? She’s family, she’s here to help us, why wouldn’t you--?”

“She...she does things to me…” Even now, he couldn’t say any of it aloud. There was a house elf peering shiftily up at them, clearly eavesdropping. And if he said what things she’d been doing, it would only make it all the more real, but he...he had to say _something_ , he had to get it out somehow. “When we have our ‘talks.’ And I...I don’t know how much longer I can--”

“What are you saying? She would never hurt you, you know that--”

“But she _has_! She has! She’s sick, she needs help--”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, don’t you _dare_.”

The air suddenly ran cold. Draco had half a mind to ask what was the matter with _her_ , but then he felt it: her grip tightening almost imperceptibly, but enough so that he could almost feel the tips of her fingernails digging into his skin. He could see it, then, too: the mad twinkle in her eye, so like her sister. He recoiled, but she held on, drawing him close till he could feel the spittle from her hissing lips hitting his nose.

“Do you have _any idea_ the gravity of the task you’ve been assigned to perform? Do you have any clue at all what’s at stake if you fail?!”

“Mum, I...I do, it’s just...Aunt Bella, she--”

“She is the only reason either of us is even still around to have this conversation. _She_ was the one who went to the Dark Lord and begged him to take you in and give you these duties, to prove yourself! Don’t you understand?! You know what will happen if we disobey! He will _murder us_. You know that, don’t you? You, me, your father. We’ve already failed him one too many times; this is our last chance! I will _not_ see this family I’ve worked so hard to protect be destroyed! Do you understand me?!”

His head lolled as she shook him. She must’ve taken it as a nod, because she finally let him go and took a step back, absentmindedly wiping her hands on the front of her dress. He swallowed as he watched her, afraid to move or make a sound, lest he set her off again. With a final haughty glance to the slave at their feet, she turned on her heel and stalked upstairs to her bedroom, where she sequestered herself for the remainder of the day.

***

Over the pain searing his nerves, frying his retinas, he could hear his Aunt cackling at him. He could feel the chair shaking beneath him as he flailed, struggled to resist, refused to scream for her this time. He’d already bitten his tongue in previous attempts, and a metallic taste still invaded his mouth.

“I can see you’re trying, but I don’t think you understand yet! You’re meant to feel _nothing_ , not even the hatred for me I can see all over your face.”

To feel nothing? Well, what was there to really feel about anymore, anyway? There was nothing he could do, and no one to help him. His father was in Azkaban. His mother had all but forsaken him after their last encounter. His Aunt was...doing _this_. And in the instance that he realized that, he felt an overwhelming sense of dread wash over him. It wasn’t emotionless, as she’d been requesting, but it was enough that his mind began to slip into a stasis, the opening she’d been poking at slowly closing.

The push to finally snap it shut took all of his mental and physical concentration, so much so that she was suddenly sent sliding backwards on her heels, and he toppled to the floor, his chair the only thing that broke his fall. It wasn’t enough to save his head from smacking the tile, however. He was still seeing stars when her beaming face finally swam into view, knelt beside him with her wand held aloft.

“Ha! Yes! That’s it! Now again!”

She cast, and it hit him hard--pain upon pain from the tightness in his muscles already. He finally let out a single, agonizing shriek before clamping his jaw and steeling himself once more.

***

Outside the window, the rain poured, fogging the glass and obscuring the scenery beyond. Inside, the clan of Slytherins--comfortably tucked away in their usual compartment--chatted animatedly, as if it had been years since they’d last been all in one place, rather than months. The train rocked gently beneath them as it strained for their destination: the castle, their sixth year, and a time that would change Draco’s life forever.

He felt like he was sitting light-years away. The noise of their conversation was nothing but a din against the blood pounding in his ears. There was a swelling in his chest like he just couldn’t get enough air in. It made him dizzy, disoriented, and it had been building since he’d reached the platform.

A sudden hand on his shoulder made him jump. His head whipped around, his heart thrumming like a stampede of centaurs, and he saw a wide-eyed Theo staring back.

“You alright, mate?”

For a split second, he imagined himself telling him the truth. Imagined himself falling into Theo’s arms, sobbing. Spilling every dirty secret, every carefully-crafted plan upon backup plan upon backup plan. Easing that weight in the pit of his stomach. Because Theo would understand, wouldn’t he? Their fathers were alike, in more ways than one. He’d been through many of the same hardships in life that Draco had, and he was just as wary of the whole thing, that much was certain. He’d _understand_. And together they would do something about this, all of this, before it was too late...

Then Theo was looking him in the eye, and he felt himself--instinctively--wipe his mind clean. The images faded and were replaced with a void, a near tangible nothingness. Calm, blank, and silent. Enough so that he was able to crack a very small smile, just an insignificant upturn of one corner of his mouth, and say, “I’m fine.” The brunette didn’t look convinced at first. But he soon smiled back, knocked their shoulders together genially, and rejoined the conversation. As the chatter continued around him, Draco began to feel the pull himself, gradually--but surely--returning to a more natural state of being. No one was any the wiser.

Aunt Bella would be proud.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments = <3!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://ohlookagaydraco.tumblr.com/) and [LJ](http://fangqueen.livejournal.com/) as well!


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